


Their Comfort

by mustachio



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Incest, M/M, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-07
Updated: 2012-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-07 03:53:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/426652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mustachio/pseuds/mustachio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the deaths of over half their family, father and son turn to each other for comfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Their Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Assassin's Creed Kink Meme and now being transfered over here along with various other fics of mine both from there and other, less anon places.

The first night is the hardest. The first night spent just the two of them, in the middle of nowhere, with nothing to keep them occupied except for their thoughts - thoughts that could prove dangerous if they lingered in their minds for too long. It's far lonelier that night than any other they've ever experienced. So much has been lost in such a shirt amount of time. For one it was a son, a wife, a best friend; for the other it was a brother, a mother, and a man who he'd come to see as something of an uncle. Neither needs to say anything of missing these people, that much is obvious, but there is something underneath that, something that should be expressed, but neither has the words for it. It is a fear. A fear that they will lose even more, will lose each other, and although neither can say it, they can feel it. It's an invisible connector for them, draws them closer until they are face to face with barely an inch of space between them. They breathe the same air, then. They breathe the same air, until for a very brief moment, they are not breathing at all. All breath stops when mouth meets mouth, two very similar mouths pressed together in a way they should not be, but are. It barely lasts even a fraction of a second, that first kiss, but it does not end there. More kisses follow, each more urgent than the last, each filled with a hunger neither would have ever thought possible. That first night ends with father and son wrapped around each other; breathless, naked, and not quite as ashamed as both knew they probably should have been.

That is only the first night, though, and there are plenty of others just like it that follow. They never use words to speak of what they're feeling, only their bodies. It is shameful, they know, and yet in the moments before it happens, while it's happening, it only feels right. It is a desperate attempt at gaining closeness with each other where they had lost the others they were closest to. 

It all stops when they make it to their destination - Sef's house. His wife agreed to take them in - they're family, she said, it wouldn't be right if she left them with no where to go, but when they get there Darim isn't so sure that this is such a good idea. The house feels strange without his younger brother in it, and an overwhelming sense of sadness overcomes him the first few nights. He misses his little brother.

Altair seems to feel it, too. His guilt and sadness over everything had been very apparent from the beginning, but it is intensified a thousand times over while they are in Sef's house - the house of his dead son. Altair smiles for his grandchildren, for his son's wife, but anyone with eyes can see that it is fake. He feels guilty because his grandchildren no longer have a father, because Sef's wife is now a widow, and because Darim no longer has a brother. It is a house full of people who have lost someone dear to them because he made a careless mistake. If he were the only one that had lost someone, it would be different, he could bear it, but that is not the situation and this house only makes that fact much more apparent. He should have gotten rid of Abbas when he had the chance and this is what he has to show for his mercy in not doing so. His guilt is what pushes him towards the Apple.

After three months in his brother's house, Darim is exhausted. He is exhausted from taking care of Sef's family, he is exhausted from taking care of his father who spends all of his time in front of that damned artifact. He makes the decision to take a day for himself, to relax, and spend the day out of that house. Sef's wife is agreeable to this, she shouldn't be doing anything that really requires his help. He doesn't know how his father feels about it, though. Darim only tells him when he's walking out the door of their room and he doesn't look back to see his response. He's with the Apple now and Darim can't stand too look at him when he's with it.

When he returns to their room he's more than a little upset to find his father still sitting at his desk in front of that accursed Apple. He's in the same position he was in when Darim left and it wouldn't be hard to believe if his father hadn't even heard his words earlier. When he approaches his heart rate picks up because it seems like his father isn't even breathing and in the back of his mind, slowly crawling to the front, he thinks that he may have lost his father to the Apple already. His hands curl into fists and he's shaking because the idea that he may not even have a father any more is too much for him - he can't handle that thought. He's lost so much already; his brother, his mother, his family's closest friend, and his home. He's without all of those things and he can't handle being without his father, too.

When he's close enough he rests a hand on his father's shoulder and breathes a sigh if relief when he feels it move up and down slightly proving that he is still breathing. It is obvious his father is not aware of his presence, though. He would have to find some way to pull his consciousness out of that thing, but short of just snatching it up from his father's hands he can think of nothing to do. After all of his failed attempts with words and even trying to physically move his father away from the desk, it is apparent that he will have to take it. He doesn't like the idea of touching it - he's seen what holding the Apple could do to a person and he does not want to take the risk, but for his father he will do it.

His movements are slow and as he reaches across his father to take the object in his hands he makes sure to keep an eye out for any sudden movements. His father was once the best the Assassin Order had to offer - probably still would be if it weren't for his obsession with the Apple - and he doesn't want to risk surprising him. It doesn't work. Within half a second of his touching the Apple his father was pulled from his chance and in even less time Darim finds a blade at his throat, very nearly drawing blood. He drops the Apple immediately, allowing it to roll to the floor and out of either of their reaches. When his father finally processes who it is that had been attempting to take the artifact from him he lowers the Hidden Blade, but does not change his stiff, guarded stance. He does not trust his son at this moment.

"What do you think you are doing? You know you are not to touch the Apple. Even holding it for a few seconds could prove disastrous."

Darim has no answer, can't find the voice to answer even of he had one because he knows what it can do. He knows that it can leave a person nearly comatose, nearly dead. He's been watching it leave his father in that state for nearly three years now. The hand that had held the Apple now raises to hold on to his father's arm, shaking and nervous and desperate to feel some warmth from his father's body, even if it's just through his clothes. There's a lump in his throat that makes it hard to swallow, his breath comes in shaky gasps and it feels like he is very nearly on the brink of crying. He feels like a child who has just been caught sneaking sweets before dinner. His grip on his fsther's sleeve tightens and his other arm reaches up to hold his father's second arm and he doesn't know if his father really understands what he is feeling or why he is feeling it, but his stance relaxes some and Darim is thankful for that. At the very least, at least his father is not about to kill him for touching his precious artifact.

His father's gaze shifts from him to the Apple on the floor and suddenly he becomes very aware that this is not truly his father. This man, this person who is so obsessed with whatever images that thing shows him is not the same man who allowed Darim into his bed on the occasions when he had some nightmare at night, not the one who taught him to fight, or play the games he knew in his childhood, or looked at him with such pride when he graduated from novice to true assassin, or who handed him his Hidden Blade that very same day and spent hours upon hours training him with it. The man standing across from him now is not the same man who did any of that and it makes him feel very, very lonely. He'd been relieved when he realized that this man had been alive, but that relief goes quickly when the realization that it isn't his father, not really, hits.

He drops his arms and takes a step back, only a step, but it feels like miles. He is miles and miles away from the one person he wants to be right next to even though he is really standing right there. Altair - because he can no longer bring himself to think of this man as his father, not now - looks back up at him questioningly, but there must be something very expressive in his face because that questioning expression softens into something else, something more understanding. Altair reckless the gap between them, rests a hand on Darim's arm, and squeezes a bit. It's an effort in comforting him that does nothing but bring him closer to the point of a breakdown.

Once again he's raising his arms, this time to wrap them around Altair's neck and hold him close. If he can't be close to him in the way he really wants, he'll take physical closeness. Altair is obviously surprised by the action, and it takes a few moments before he wraps his own arms around Darim. He isn't sure what to do now, doesn't know how he can make his son feel at ease and in the back of his mind he can't stop the thoughts of getting his hands back on the Apple. Absently, he runs a hand over Darim's back in an almost soothing manner and the younger man tightens his grip and his breath seems to catch in his throat for a moment before he lets go completely. There is something between them right now that they haven't felt in at least three years, since they'd made the journey from Masyaf to this house and it's this feeling that controls Darim's actions when he presses his mouth to Altair's, when he draws them closer in a different sort of desperation for closeness than seconds earlier. This desperation is much more hungry, more carnal than that.

If Altair is surprised about this, he doesn't show it. This time, the response is immediate. He returns the kiss, hard rough, hungry and they're mouths are pressed so closely together that it's very nearly brushing with too much teeth for it to really be enjoyable, but neither seems to really care. They just keep pushing on, biting, licking, doing anything they can to get as much contact as possible. It doesn't take long for them to start removing clothes. They move quickly, not wanting to put off what they really want, what the end goal of all of this is. With their armor and weapons it takes longer than they would like, but their hands are efficient and it doesn't take long before they are both naked and tangled in each others limbs on the bed.

Altair rolls his hips, grinding into Darim and creating some much appreciated friction between their lengths. Darim moans, buries his face in the crook of Altair's neck and mimics the action, arching up into the older man. Already it feels so good and he isn't sure how long he'll last, but he is grateful for all of this despite that. Where his lips rest on his father's neck he replaces them with his teeth, biting at the skin there and leaving a very noticeable red mark there. He licks it, kisses it, and trails his mouth down to Altair's chest until he reaches one nipple and repeats the process there and on the other. His skin is hot, so hot, and the heat only serves as encouragement to continue what he's doing.

Altair isn't as vocal as Darim, but he does give a soft moan of approval. It's been a long time since they've done this and he can't say that he didn't miss being with another person in this way, the thought of this particular person being his son far from his mind - until he grinds into him, drawing a moan of the word "father" from Darim's lips and he's reminded of that fact once again. He is much too far gone to be able to care about that now, though, and rather than stopping as he probably should have he just brings his son back up so they are face to face and he kisses him again. This time it's softer, much less teeth involved, and it feels better. It isn't the same as kissing Maria, doesn't make him feel closer to her at all although it is her son, but it brings a feeling he is eternally grateful for. It is the closest he has been with anyone in years, both physically and emotionally and for a moment he feels something eerily similar to regret for neglecting his son in favor of the Apple.

They don't waste time in getting to the point in all this. They don't have any sort of oil to make penetration easier and when Altair enters Darim it hurts - almost unbearably so. His body isn't used to this, not any more, and with nothing to make it smoother the friction which would normally be a source of pleasure is now a source of pain. Darim swallows hard, gripping Altair's shoulders much tighter than he means to, but unable to stop himself. Altair leans down and presses his lips to Darim's, a sad attempt at distracting his son from the pain. Briefly, he wonders if the guilt he feels for causing Darim pain is the guilt of a father or a lover. These are strange thoughts to have, strange and unwelcome because he feels sick at the thought of doing this with his own flesh and blood, and yet the need and want are too great to simply push away.

Darim is the one to break the kiss. His breathing is coming out in short, hard gasps and he squirms beneath the weight of his father, but when he finally has enough breath he manages to whisper one word.

"Move."

It only takes a second for Altair to comply. Slowly, he rolls his hips into Darim's, thrusting in and out at a pace that leaves them both gasping and moaning and writhing, hoping for more despite the discomfort that is still very much present. They've gotten used to it, though. It is still quite uncomfortable to be doing this no with form of lubrication at all, but they learn to derive some pleasure from the pain. It is almost masochistic, although there's really no almost about it, but they enjoy it in a sick and twisted way and it is fitting for what they are doing. Father and son, a mess of tangled limbs, connected mouths, and another place of connection where there should not be any.

Their thrusts become far too erratic far too quickly, but neither of them try to prolong the inevitable. Darim moans it's loud and comes in the form of a title Altair would rather not hear at this particular moment, but it's just reflex to call him that, he can't help it.

They both find their release at the same time and their grips on each other tighten and Darim is certain that he will be leaving this bed with a few new bruises. Orgasm for them involves quite a bit of biting and thrusts that are harder than would probably be enjoyable to most people, but that's okay. The comfort they find in each other is a painful kind of comfort, but it is one that they welcome. It is fitting, they feel, given the way they find their comfort - a way that they both feel unbelievable guilty about, but feel a strange addiction to all the same.

They spend the rest of that night wrapped in each others arms, unwilling to separate and lose the comfort their closeness provides. Darim is afraid for the morning. He is afraid that his father will go right back to the Apple, that he'll go back to having what may as well just be a dead body for a father. He is deathly afraid for those things because he loves his father, probably more than a son should, and he doesn't want to loose him. He doesn't want to loose the only family he has left because he might have Sef's wife and Sef's children to look after, but that's just it - they are Sef's family. His father is the only one he can really call his anymore.

Altair feels guilty. He feels guilty because he still feels the pull of the Apple's power, because he knows he'll go back to looking inside of it again by morning, despite knowing how much Darim hates it. He can't help it, though. He can't help it because after the Apple shows him visions of the future, after he gets what information it has to offer at that moment, it shows him visions of his family - all of them. Maria, Sef, Sef's wife and children, Darim, and even Malik and his son. He can't tear himself away from that illusion even though he knows it's not real, even though he knows the real Darim cannot see that vision and therefore cannot understand why his father would spend so much time looking into the artifact. He loves his son, possibly more than he should as a father, and because of that he feels guilty for his addiction to the Apple, but he can't pull himself away from it.


End file.
